


Call Me By Your Name, Baby

by hots



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fun, Gay Sex, Good Sex, Hot, Hot Sex, Italy, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, landscapes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hots/pseuds/hots
Summary: Young Eve has spent her 17 years of life in Northern Italy with her loving parents, Carolyn and Konstantin, her trusty house servant Bill, and her childhood crush, Niko. But one summer, everything changes when the mysterious older Villanelle comes to stay with the Polastris as a research assistant to Eve's father. An unexpected romance unfurls....





	1. Somewhere in Northern Italy

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this fic is bad!!! Lol tits my first time writing,, ever,,, I just felt compelled to do this I couldn't help myself but PLEASEEEE excuse any errors ^^" 
> 
> ** I write short charpters because I just find that more interesting to me.. and easier for others to read sometimes haha! I know my attention span is short and I want to be able to update a lot :) forgive me if you're someone who likes looooong chapters. I plan for this fic to be VERY LONG tho!!! Like novel length... haha can't believe I'm doing this finally >u<

“Later!” she calls to me for the first time.  _ Later,  _ that cursed word. That abhorred word, though I didn’t know it yet. That word that ended up being a lie, a total and complete lie, but one that I hoped might have been a truth. Later. 

The morning she arrives I am sitting in my room on my bed with Niko. I can see his tiny boyish erection poking through his shorts, and the fleshy shaft of his phallus through his unzipped fly. 

“Niko,” I say quietly, as gently as possible, “your fly’s down.” Of course, I say this in Italian: _ la tua mosca è giù.  _

His face reddens immediately as he realizes his manhood is exposed. “ _ Scusa!”  _ he mutters. I can’t help but laugh at him, this young man in my bed next to me, face pimpled and moustache lopsided with adolescence. I almost want to touch him. I am about to, when I hear the rumbling of our car into the yard and leap from the bed, knocking him to the ground. 

“ _ Scusa,”  _ I say mockingly, then-- “ _ l'usurpateur.”  _ Niko doesn’t speak French, so he is obviously confused, but I am already at the window in two long bounds. 

“Evelio!” he calls from my bedroom floor. 

I pay him no attention. The woman exiting the car has already captured all of mine. Her delicately batrachian features, those catlike eyes, the dark blond hair wrapped messily into a bun with a few thin strands falling onto the sharp shoulders of her gray jacket suit. 

“Lovely place,” she says to my father. Her voice is thinly accented and a wet  _ gush  _ instantly fills my lower abdomen. I clutch my sex fearfully. Silently pray that Niko does not notice. 

“I-I have to go,” I whisper to him. “Get out of here.”  _ Devo andare. Vai fuori di qui. _

He gives me a wounded look, but scampers out the door all the same. I listen for his pitter pattering down the stairs, imagining that he runs on all fours. It brings a chuckle to my countenance. 

I count fifty seconds and watch him sprint out of the yard before going downstairs, by which time my father and mother have already bellowed themselves raw, calling me to help our new guest. 

“Yes, father?” I answer, drifting into the kitchen. 

Konstantin noogies my head affectionately. “You little wench! Help Villanelle with her bags. Please.” 

I look to Carolyn, who nods in agreement. “Supper will be ready as soon as Bill returns with the fish. Chop-chop.” 

Villanelle. The name is loose and silky on my tongue, and I suck on the syllables in my mouth, lips shut tight like I’m afraid the word might slip out when I don’t mean it to. “It’s nice to meet you, Villanelle,” I say. “I’m Evelio. But you can call me Eve.” 

“Or maybe I’ll call you…” she begins, smirking slightly. “Never mind. Show me to my room?” 

I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I grab one of her bags and start up the stairs. “My room will be yours for the summer, while you’re here. And I…” I pause to toss her bag onto the bed, making sure to cover a stain that Niko surely left, though I didn’t notice it earlier. “I will be in that room. We’ll have to share a bathroom, if that’s alright.” 

“That’s fine,” she replies, smiling at me. If I weren’t so virginal, I might think she spoke almost naughtily. 

“Anything else you need?” I ask. 

“Mmm, no. Thank you, Eve.” 

“Dinner will be soon,” I add. 

She collapses on the bed, sighing blissfully. “Could you make up an excuse to your mom for me? I'm just pooped. Going to sleep early.”

“I--”

“Thanks so much. Later.” 

Before I can get a word out, she’s already snoring loudly, sharing the bed with her suitcase, though she doesn’t seem to mind. I take a moment to look at her peaceful body, then shake my head in disbelief and duck out of the room as quietly as I can manage. 

_ Later.  _

 


	2. Wear it Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At breakfast the next morning... Eve and Villanelle have their first sexually charged encounter, featuring eggs, apricots, a story of a rat, and hair-- lots of hair!

In the morning, I wake up to a kind, deep laughter emanating from the outdoor patio downstairs. My father’s unmistakable belly chortle; my mother’s high tinny snicker; a new laugh, a bright yet secretive one that seems to hide a darker sense of humor. My stomach gurgles-- it’s time to eat.

I throw on a loose sweatshirt that hangs off of my shoulders from all its cycles through the wash, as well as a pair of shorts. Before I leave, I check my hair in the bathroom mirror. The curls wrap around my face like Medusa’s snakes, and I scowl at my reflection. I look like a lion with a frizzy, untameable mane.

Clomping down the stairs, I tie my hair into a loose bun. Bill nods at me as I pass through the hallway and into the patio.

“Morning,” my father greets amicably.

“You slept late,” my mother says, smiling.

My eyes are already fixated on the woman in front of me. Villanelle.

“Morning,” I mumble to my parents as I take my seat at the end of the table, across from our guest.

Bill enters bearing a tray of soft-boiled eggs and I sit up straighter in my seat, my mouth watering.

“Damn,” I exclaim under my breath, “my favorite! Eggs!”

My mother picks an apricot from the tree nearby and tosses it to me.

“I once saw a rat eating an apricot in the yard. Both hands. Extraordinary,” she says.

I roll my eyes-- I’ve heard this story one too many times before. But Villanelle looks intrigued. “A rat? Wow,” she says. Her accent pisses me off to no end, yet arouses me deeply at the same time. I have no choice but to squirm in my chair.

“Egg?” my father offers to her.

“Thank you, Doctor Polastri,” she says.

“Please, call me Konstantin,” he replies with a wave of his large hand.

She tilts her head as she looks at him, almost childlike. “Of course. Konstantin.”

“And please, call me Carolyn,” my mother adds. “No formalities here. You’re our guest before you’re our student.”

Villanelle nods happily and takes an egg. 

“Oh, this looks delicious!” She places it in her little egg cup and before she even strikes it, I know that she will hit it too hard. As predicted, the shell cracks right into the soft flesh of the egg, splattering the table. The entrails look like the fluids of sex. She sensually exclaims in surprise. “I’m so sorry, I--”

My mother waves over Bill. “It’s no problem at all, no problem, we’ll get you another one. Right-o!”

I take this opportunity to look her over once more. She’s in a pink dress, frilly and rumply and soft. It’s appropriate for the hot Italian weather, but perhaps not for the work she’ll be doing with my father. She wears almost imperceptible makeup, maybe a splash of lipcolor around her mouth and a swipe of mascara over her lashes. I lean closer, trying to decipher whether or not her eyelashes are really just that thick and voluptuous.

Suddenly, she catches me staring. I instantly turn a deep crimson and sink into my chair. In that same moment, my hair tie breaks and my curls spring loose like a male teen’s first erection-- I curse my luck as Medusa’s snakes go flying.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” I mutter, gathering my mop of locks in my fingers and glaring at my snapped hair tie. “I’ll go get another one, just a second.”

“No,” she says. She puts a hand out as if she’s going to touch me across the table, but she doesn’t. “Wear it down.”

I freeze. Her gaze is piercing into me, right into my heart, pinning me to this moment in time like a needle through a dead butterfly in a lepidopterist’s collection.

I stutter some moronic response and bite into the apricot in my hand. I’ve clasped it so hard the juice is leaking down my arm, and I’ve barely noticed. My teeth sink into its soft, firm exterior and with every puncture of the skin, my mouth fills with warm, ripe liquid. I suck on the pit, tonguing the fruit’s meat, my eyes closed. When I open them, Villanelle is still looking at me. She cracks her egg almost erotically, and my breath catches in my throat. She tilts the shell to her mouth and pours the runny contents onto her tongue. I swear I could hear her expel a moan.

At the same time, Bill enters and expels a loud burst of flatulence, distracting everyone-- I am relieved for the excuse to look away from Villanelle.

“Sorry, everyone!” he chuckles gleefully.

“Oh, Bill!” my parents laugh in unison. Villanelle has a mildly disgusted expression on her face, but quickly hides it when my mother turns to her and offers another egg.

“I couldn’t!” she declines, then: “Well, maybe one more!”

“Eve,” my father says, “would you mind showing Villanelle to the local bank after breakfast? The one in Crema.”

“Right, I was asking about that earlier! I’d like to open an account while I’m here, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” I answer. “You can ride the extra bike.”

She beams at me with a twinkle in her eye. “I’d be glad to ride. The bike, that is.”

My face is suddenly as vermilion as mercury sulfide once more. Damn this strange new woman and all that she’s done to my body. And all that I’m sure she will do!


	3. A Lazy Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle bike together in Italy, and stop at the bank, where circumstances begin to reveal themselfs.....

“Here’s your bike,” I say to Villanelle, giving her a bike. She smirks at me suggestively and makes sure to brush her fingertips against mine when she takes it from me by the handlebars. 

“Thanks,” she says breathily. “I can’t wait to see Crema and the bank.” 

As we pedal down the driveway together, Bill flashes me a cheeky twinkle, as if to say,  _ I can sense your attraction! _ I roll my eyes at him in response and lose focus on the road ahead, almost crashing my bike into a tree. 

Villanelle looks to me with concern as I steady myself and regain balance. “Are you alright, Eve?” 

I am already hopelessly in lust with the way she says my name, the way it fills her mouth and spills over her lips like she’s been holding it in forever. I can’t stop imagining what her plump cherry smackers would feel like on mine… and almost crash again! 

“Eve!” she exclaims. 

“I’m fine!” I yell back, blushing and embarrassed. Suddenly I can’t bear to see her out of the corner of my eye, biking next to me, and I pedal as fast and hard as I can, my legs pumping as vigorously as a juvenile male might thrust with pleasure. When I’m finally ahead of her, I slow to catch my breath. She comes up beside me, pedaling at a great speed with apparent ease. 

“Wow, Eve,” she says as we race together. “Trying to escape me?” 

I’m too astonished to even respond, but my face breaks into a childish smile. Together we speed down the street like a couple of cats with their tails set alight with flame, turning corners and whizzing through alleys with unparalleled ferocity. 

At least, I screech to a stop outside a beige building. “We’re here.” I hear her laugh from behind me as I park my bike. 

“You’re funny.” 

“I am?” I say, not looking at her. I’m afraid that if I do, she will sense the speed of my pounding heart. Maybe it’s from the intensity of my biking-- or maybe it’s from the intensity of her gaze. 

“Yes. I didn’t expect such an extraordinary race. It was fun.” 

I open my mouth to answer, but Villanelle has already propped her bike against a wall and is adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder. “I’ll be in and out in a second,” she tells me, and before I can follow her in, she’s jogging up the steps and into the bank with confidence. “Watch my bike!” she calls as she slips through the doors and begins speaking in flawless Italian. I am positively stunned. 

When she finally comes back out, looking as pleased with herself as a young man who’s bedded his first lay and performed spectacularly, I am resting at a table, sipping an iced lemonade and watching the clouds roll by. 

“Thank you,” she says playfully before grabbing the moist glass out of my hand and taking an elegant gulp. Her neck flexes as she swallows, and my sex twitches involuntarily with fever. 

“You’re welcome,” I grumble to hide my excitement. 

“So,” she says, returning the glass to me, “what do you do around here?” 

I can’t stop staring at the lip print she’s left on the rim, but I force myself to concentrate on the conversation at hand. “Ride my bike, read books, swim in the river.” 

“Sounds like a lazy summer,” she replies. 

I shrug at her. “How are you doing?”

She sighs at me before answering, a breathy, wet sigh that sends a tingle racing into my abdomen. “I had quite a heavy period last week, but other than that, I think I’m okay.” 

Damn! Once again, my face is the color of a strawberry. “I-I meant, how are you enjoying Italy?” 

Villanelle grins at me boldly. “I know what you meant, I was having fun with you. I like it a lot, actually. The architecture is nice. And the company is extremely attractive.” She raises her eyebrows at me and tilts her head towards all the hotties walking around us. 

“Yes, the men here are known for being beautiful.” I try not to let her see that I’m waiting to see how she responds to my pointedly gendered remark. 

“The women, too, of course,” she says, falling into my trap. I smile widely at my lemonade, letting my curly tresses fall around my face to hide my expression of sheer joy.  _ The women, too!  _

All of a sudden, she rises from the table. I look up in surprise. “Well,” she sighs, “later!” And with that, she skips back over to her bike and is pedaling away before I can even begin to process what has just occurred in front of me. 


	4. Sculptures and Apricots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s something about… the way you are…” she sings softly to her reflection, “that makes me…” 
> 
> Fun with sexy statues and, some naughty fruit...!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos and coments if you enjoyed! I love feedback :)!

_ Villanelle fusses with her wet hair in the mirror, and the ribbon around her bathrobe comes undone. As I watch through the crack in the door, I spy a supple teat peeking its nippled head out to say hello. I wonder what it would be like to flick that tit, rub that button. My female anatomy is leaping with heat! In a way that it never has with Niko…  _

_ “There’s something about… the way you are…” she sings softly to her reflection, “that makes me…” She suddenly gasps, and for a second I internally panic that maybe she’s caught me peeping. But no, it’s just a gasp of pleasure and ecstasy at her own delicious vocals.  _

_ As she continues singing, I am unable to contain the rage inside my groin. My sexual nub feels like a tiny pulsing orb-- I leak!  _

_ “Eve?” I suddenly hear, her voice piercing through the ringing in my ears, the blood rushing to my head with desire and passion. I swoon dizzily, regretting my awful tendency to spy-- _

“Eve!” 

My eyes flutter open to see Villanelle’s face inches above mine. “Oh!” I yell, startled. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“You were having a nightmare,” she says matter-of-factly. My heart races. 

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize!” she warns. “You were making all sorts of noises, tossing and turning like crazy.” She raises her eyebrows at me and wiggles her hips. “Must have been one wild dream.” 

I’m fuming. “I-- yes, it was… wild.” I can’t stop thinking about her breast, it’s clouding my vision, and I feel like I’m going mad when all I can stare at is her lush cleavage. “Is it breakfast time already?” 

She laughs. “Breakfast has already passed. You must have stayed up awfully late to sleep in like this.” 

I remember how I forced myself to remain awake till four in the morning, waiting by my window for her silhouette to appear so that we could perhaps make tender love beneath the stars. But I had no such luck, and now I am paying the price in exhaustion. 

“Anyway, I’m helping your father with things. Come join us if you wish.” With a wink, a nod, and a cock of her head, she’s out, breezing through the door and sending a chill all over my body. My hairs stand on end, little tiny soldiers at attention, saluting like a boy’s hard-on as he discovers himself for the first time. 

 

***

 

In the living room, it is quiet except for the gentle strum of a Mozart melody on the record player. I whistle along to the tune, putting my own bluesy spin on the ditty. Villanelle looks up from her seat on the couch at me, smiling. 

“Ah, Eve!” my father, Konstantin, says with a grin. “Just in time. I was showing Villanelle these photographs of old Roman statues.” He flips through a slideshow of pictures on the projector: voluptuous young women, each and every mound perfectly sculpted. I’ve seen these photos many times before, even climaxed to one or two of them. 

“They’re beautiful,” Villanelle breathes. Her voice catches in her throat, and I find my lap aching with need. Oh, how depraved I feel!

“They're all curved,” Konstantin says, “sometimes impossibly curved, and so nonchalant-- hence their ageless ambiguity... as if they're daring you to desire them.”

Villanelle looks up at him, and I am looking at her, at her overflowing bosom, her thick hips and ass. 

As if my mother, Carolyn, can  _ taste  _ the tension in the air, she interrupts, “Ahem! Apricot juice, anyone?” 

“I’ll have some,” Villanelle says excitedly. “Mm,” she mewls, sipping the sugary liquid and letting it ooze and drip down her chin. “Oops,” she teases, making direct eye contact with me. I have to squeeze my quadriceps together like a dam to keep the flood from erupting. 

“You know,” Konstatin remarks, “The word ‘apricot’ comes from the Latin, ‘apricoqum.” 

Villanelle smirks. “Aprico...cum?” 

Everyone in the room bursts into a hearty belly chuckle at her quip. Everyone except for me, that is, who now cannot stop thinking about what it would be like to experience pleasure from a fruit. Damn this Villanelle! She’s made me perverse-- and she’s only been here less than two days. 


	5. I Got Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle and Eve have got issues, including sore mucsles and tight back, and SEXYNESSS...! :) enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment and kudos if you enjoy:) i worked really hard on this one to capture their dynamic and would LOOOVE feed back!

_Pow!_

The thwack of Villanelle’s tan and toned arms against the volleyball sends my spine into shock and my minge spiraling with rapture. 

“Isn’t she cute?” Niko says greedily, sitting next to me on the grass. I take a swig from my bottle of water and sigh.

Nadia nods in agreement. “She’s better than the guy who came last year!” Of course, she utters this in the smooth, fragrant Italian tongue, _Lei è migliore del ragazzo che è venuto l'anno scorso!_

Niko laughs. “Are you gay, Nadia?”

“Hell no! But I’d let her do me any day,” Nadia replies, winking. “Wouldn’t you, Eve?”

I blush instantly. “What? Of course not, I-- I mean, not that she isn’t beautiful-- she’s _very_ attractive, but--”

Nadia cuts me off with a guttural laugh that draws Villanelle’s attention to us, distracting her from the game.

“Villanelle!” someone on the opposite team shouts in alarm, a millisecond before the ball smashes into her head and sends her flying across the yard and onto the ground.

“Oof!” she exclaims in pain. My senses throb with grief for her as I clamber to my feet, unable to even speak. As I approach her hesitantly, she hobbles over to me, grabs the bottle out of my hand, and immediately begins to glug the water with a fierce determination. I find my eyes drawn to the droplets streaming down her neck, onto her chest, where her ripe tatas almost seem to sway with the breeze. Oh, If I were a boy! I thank the universe that no one can see my silent and invisible woman’s erection…

Villanelle parts the bottle from her lips, exhaling, and suddenly clamps a wiry hand on my bare shoulder. I tense instinctively, and she remarks sensually, “You need to relax.” Relax! As if I could, with her touching my skin like this!

“Ah,” I breathe, wincing.

“Am I hurting you?” she asks softly.

“No, I--” I begin, but I am unable to finish my thought as she digs a finger into my shoulder. I moan with the release.

“Niko!” she calls. “Come over here.”

Niko obediently rises and gallops over. “What is it?”

“Tell Eve she needs to relax,” Villanelle says smugly. “Feel this?”

She puts Niko’s hands on my back where hers used to be just moments ago, instructing him on how to tug and push at the tight muscles. Then, to my horror, she runs back to the yard to continue playing volleyball with the others.

“You need to relax, Eve,” Niko says, his moustache prickling the back of my neck. I step away and he lets his arms fall defeatedly.

 

***

 

After the game has ended, I strum my guitar outside, humming a soft tune-- _Issues_ by Julia Michaels, one of my favorite artists.

 _“Yeah, I got issues,”_ I sing melodically, _“and one of them is how bad I need ya!”_

“What is that?” Villanelle’s voice emerges from behind me and I turn around, startled.

“What?”

She nods at my instrument, which is propped in my lap and thankfully hiding my sopping shorts, pickled with the juices that flow simply from seeing her face and hearing her voice. “Play that again.”

I pause. “Follow me.”

Inside, I take a seat at the piano and begin to play, a harsher, more rhythmic rendition of the song. When I’m finished, I look up at her.

“It’s different,” she says. “You changed it. Why?”

I shrug. “I played it the way Beyonce would’ve covered it.”

She smiles. “Play it again, like you did outside.”

I tap out a more pop-like, sexy version for her.

Villanelle stands there, looking stunned. “I can’t believe you changed it again.”

“I was just playing it the way Madonna would’ve covered it.”

She cocks her head at me, looking inquisitive yet frustrated. “And what’s wrong with Julia Michaels, the way Julia Michaels played it?”

“Well, Julia Michaels didn’t even write it for the guitar, we don’t actually know if she wrote it at all--”

“Never mind!” Villanelle calls, turning around with a wave of her hand to leave the room.

Hurriedly, I begin to play, tender and romantic. She walks back in, a small grin creeping up her lips. When I finish the piece, it feels like utter blissful climax.


End file.
